


Service

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Twitter Fic [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: The Supreme Leader offers his services. Hux contemplates his resentment.





	Service

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on twitter.

It hadn't been difficult to take the Core, not once Organa's Resistance had been reduced to a single craft--not once the rest of the New Republic abandoned her. The Supreme Leader took pleasure in it, revelling in the homecoming of sorts.

It had been nearly a decade since he'd last touched dirt on Chandrila, his time with Skywalker and then the Ren stretching long between the boy Solo and the imperial figure, cloaked and adorned, who stood there now.

The estate where he'd spent his boyhood had been carefully shut up by the droid staff. Furniture covered, data hubs locked, pantry cleared. Even with maintenance cycles, the air had been stagnant upon entering. Troopers in casuals had one through the place, throwing open windows and doors to let the cool evening breeze wash through every room of the estate. Hux wondered why Ren didn't take up residence in Hanna City, assume the governor's seat.

It was a message, a symbol, he claimed. To retake what was rightfully his, reclaim what Organa had denied him with her own selfishness and lack of interest; to show the galaxy who was in charge, who's feet they should fall before.

Hux regarded it all quietly with suspicion and disdain. The sentiment was lost on him. He'd never had a claim, never had anything to lose but himself. In the same position, he would have built something new rather than recycle the obsolete.

The broadcast had been admittedly spectacular, announcing his arrival and his claim. Hux would never utter the acknowledgment aloud.

Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader, had come home to roost. It spun a tale of his legacy: Heir of Padme Amidala, beloved Queen and Senator. Heir of Lord Vader, feared and respected for his power and position. Rightful Prince of Alderaan, honorable among the galactic monarchy. Rightful Governor of Birren. Last remaining member of House Organa, honorable among the Elder Ruling Houses. Master of the Knight of Ren. Leading Ruler supported by the First Order and all of its constituents.

Hux listened with interest, amused at the ways that their separate fates had twined so closely together in the bureaucratic flow of galactic governance, and at how far they'd diverged.

Hux. Imperial refugee. Last of his name. Heir to nothing. Grand Marshal of the First Order and commander of the Supreme Leader's flagship.

He seethed.

Grand Marshal Armitage Hux was without ally amongst Ren's inner circle, his greatest tool wasted against a traitor.

He played his part all the same. He oversaw the clearing out of the estate's grand ballroom. The western-facing wall opened onto acres of unoccupied land, a sanctuary of sorts if he understood correctly. The thick, structural transparisteel allowed the room to be filled with the sweeping fire of the sunset in the evening. The hot, riotous color would explode at precisely the right angle to frame the ominous monolith of a throne at the center of it all.

For hours,the light filtered through the banners hung on either side. The First Order's sigil modified to Leader Kylo's preference. The fabric was a custom production, designed to filter that sunset and cast an imposing image upon the glossy ivory floor.

Hux stood alone in the throne room. A desk and seating was meant to be installed, tucked away unobtrusively where the servants' station to attend the ballroom had been--now a place for Ren's most trusted staff. He moved to the center of the room, squinting into the light.

It was an effective trick to be sure. Any audience would be at a disadvantage, entirely exposed while Ren himself on the throne was cloaked in darkness and shrouded in fire.

The light slipped toward lower wavelengths as the sun sank. Hux thought of Starkiller's glow and ground his teeth. He managed to hide his surprise at the low voice in his ear. Ren had learned to be quiet.

"I appreciate it, you know."

Ren paused and breathed and looked at the throne, mimicking Hux's posture.

"You don't hide it. I like to know where I stand. Easier for everyone involved, I think."

He moved beside Hux, not bothering to regard him with a look.

"Tell me, Grand Marshal, do you still carry that clever little blade?"

"Of course I do."

Ren nodded and fell silent for an uncomfortable stretch.

Hux tensed when he finally moved, moving behind him again and settling his heavy hands on Hux's shoulders. Warily, he allowed Ren to remove his coat, watching from the corner of his eye as Ren handed it to the attendant trooper just paces away.

Ren gestured with haughty grandeur, his arm outstretched and his palm open, to the throne. "Sit," he said softly. "Please."

The tension in Hux's gut ran cold, a stone forming low in his belly. When he did not move, Ren repeated himself. Still soft, but firmer. Hux strode across the room and took the two short steps to that imposing seat of power on light feet, afraid.

"Sit," Ren said, a hassled instructor to a defiant cadet. Hux sank down slowly, calculating whatever trap had been set, searching for an escape.

The trooper had stepped away, remaining at attention near the door. They would be no help. The trooper glanced over curiously, breaking protocol for just a second, before turning to stone once again.

"You don't think I deserve this. Not just because you see yourself here." Ren trailed off, studying Hux and the room to either side of him, considering something. "But you don't think me incompetent, either. So full of contradiction, you are."

Hux wished Ren still wore his mask. The anonymous face of it was easier to stomach than the topography of scarring and the ruined eye that refused to focus on him now. It twisted and pulled constantly, Ren's natural face too expressive and open.

He seemed to decide something and approached the throne, a dark void slipping across the bright white floor. He halted at the shallow stair and sank down to one knee fluidly. Hux began to rise in protest.

"Supreme Leader, this is hardly--"

"Quiet," Ren hissed. Words failed him.

"Sit," Ren commanded. He sat.

"Do you serve me in all things, Grand Marshal?" Hux pursed his lips. "Do you serve the Order?"

Ren seemed to take his silence as some positive affirmation. He leaned in, hands on Hux's knees and skimming over his thighs as he sank forward.

"You did Snoke's bidding, served him well," Ren's sly grin sent a chill up Hux's spine and made the fine hairs at the back of his neck rise. "So long as his bidding served you."

He hated it when Ren spoke in circles.

Ren fiddled with the closure of Hux's trousers under the hem of his tunic until they fell open. The closure tinkled softly against the the side of the throne. Hux glanced toward the trooper by the door, flush rising in his cheeks, sweat breaking out under his clothes.

The trooper did a good job of pretending to be oblivious, though attentive; but out of armor as they were, it was impossible to hide the flush rising in their own cheeks. Whether embarrassed, offended, or otherwise, Hux couldn't decipher.

Ren noticed, of course, as Ren noticed all things. His hands were hot and heavy as his dark-eyed regard. His fingers and palms were dry and calloused when he touched Hux, already half-hard with bewildered arousal.

"Tell me, Grand Marshal, does my bidding serve you?"

Hux choked, his mouth too wet and his throat too dry. He thought he nodded, sharp and quick, but he couldn't be sure.

Ren swallowed him down, freeing his big hands to press into Hux's hips and belly under his clothes. He itched to sink his fingers into Ren's hair and found he couldn't.

Ashamed of the strangled sound that escaped him after long moments of Ren's quiet attention, Hux refused to relinquish his posture and appear undone. The trooper seemed to have turned into a droid there at the door.

"Hux," Ren said, getting easily to his feet. His voice was rough, throat abused. "I shall need the room."

The trooper sprang to life, suddenly animated once again. They opened the door, holding it and holding Hux's coat out to him.

"Of course," Hux said, breathless as he made himself decent. "Supreme Leader."

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to continue this exercise. It was fun and challenging and gave me a chance to feel creative and actually PUBLISH something and potentially get some quick feedback rather than working on something forever and then feeling like no one is interested.
> 
> Comments are super appreciated.
> 
> [Find me on tumblr @ avaahren](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/post/177365668184/service-aryagreenleaf)


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